


spill the clichés from your mind

by itjustcantbe



Category: Sorted (Website) RPF
Genre: (i didnt know which tag so i put both), Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Alternate Universe - Immortal, Drinking & Talking, Gen, Immortality, Non-Graphic Violence, hangover (referenced to), like not in detail but barry is reckless and a bit Like That :tm: in this universe, mention of violence and discussion of violence, night out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 08:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17504957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itjustcantbe/pseuds/itjustcantbe
Summary: set of drabbles set in immortal au, will update tags as i go!(edit - just to say the title is from colours run)





	1. things you said at 1 am (barry and mike)

ben isn’t the type for late night drinks, he’s not the type for drinks full stop, so when you and mike go out, it’s not unusual that ben stays back, jamie with him. the pair of them are asleep before you and mike hit your third club of the night, when the date and calendar switch from it being last thing on a saturday to first thing on a sunday, but in your minds it’s still a night out not a chaotic morning.  
“i like spending time with you,” you say, wide grin and eyes open too wide. you’re a lightweight as ever. 

mike gives a hum of acknowledgement, sipping at his vodka soda. the pair of you are sat down at a table, taking a break from the dancefloor to regain composure, after you end up one near miss away from spilling your drink over yourself, and perhaps, more riskily, someone else. second club of the night or not, you get drunk quickly - ‘efficiently’ - but you’re not complaining. it makes for a cheaper night out than if you were bringing jamie. 

“i mean,” you continue, or try again, “i’m glad you’re back.”

mike smiles, and if you were any less drunk you’d properly notice the condescending look on his face and take offence. he rests a hand on your shoulder with a nod. 

“you’re a good guy, baz.”

you nod in turn, pointing a finger at him. “that’s the thing isn’t it!”

the quizzical look on his face tells you to continue. 

“i’m just a good guy to you, an idiot, maybe, i’ll cop that, but, i’m not a symbol of anything for you.”

“and you are for the others?”

“well, there’s jamie’s son, and, i understand that, i mean, similar stories, too close to home, hell, i don’t mind having someone who sees me as their kid, especially a guy like jamie, but sometimes i want a friend who doesn’t see me as a consolation prize. the immortal version of whoever they want.”

you take a sip of your drink, that you only half remember buying, unsure of what it is, but wanting to get even further out of your head. it takes mike rapping his fingers on the table for you to look up at him, realising you’ve drained your glass. you set it down on the table, and your hand eye coordination dwindling, leading to the glass wobbling on the edge of its base before stabilising. 

“i mean, mike, ebbers, me and him go way back. we met ‘fore i was… well, the way i am. didn’t talk or anything but you know, he’s only born a bit before me anyway, and even he has someone else who i’m sure he’d like to have seen more of.”

“his...” mike leaves the question without properly asking it. 

“brother. younger. cooler than him but not as smart. hell, i can hardly blame him for seeing the resemblance in me. it’s just, i get to be myself with you, don’t i?”

“you’re still yourself with the others, i’m sure if you told them that you didn’t want the association, they’d drop it.”

you shake your head, biting your lip as your brain puts sentence fragments together into coherency. 

“it wouldn’t go, you know? they see me as myself plus more and they can’t take that plus off. ‘nd i’m not gonna take that from them? it’s just refreshing that you don’t have expectations of me, or someone that you wish i was.”

“i get it,” mike replies. “you’re just baz to me, but i don’t think the extra attachment is a bad thing. i mean, it’s ‘cause they care about you.”

“and you don’t?”

“i don’t feel responsible for preventing you from making bad decisions. your father and brother might do.”

“hell, if you’re not gonna stop me from fucking up, then i feel like a couple of shots of tequila, on me, don’t worry.”

mike laughs at that, his teeth flashing in the dark light of the club, as he shakes his head. he helps you to your feet, with one hand, and finishes his drink with the other. you wobble as you stand, leaning your head against mike for a second before shaking it off. 

“you’re really going whole hog on making mistakes if you’re going straight for tequila,” he says. 

“what can i say? i love a bit of recklessness. as much as i’m all for getting wine drunk over dinner with ebbers and jay, it’s like, why not just drink tequila ‘til i can’t and then hopefully wake up at home.”

“lucky it’s me here and not them, huh.”

“i thought that was the point. make the most of no adult supervision.”

“we’re both adults, well, ish.”

you shrug, laughing as you reach the bar. “doesn’t mean we can’t act like eighteen-year-olds,” you reply before turning to the bartender. “six-” you start, turning to mike to see the look on his face of amusement, horror, and anticipation rolled into one, “- yeah, six tequila shots thanks.” 

“three each?” mike asks as the bartender pours them out - it feels good to know that the two of you aren’t even a blip on their radar. 

“ s’what i figured,’ you said, the alcohol from the drink you drained before starting to hit you, which meant the shots, which fuck you up at the best of times, would hit quickly. 

you drink quickly, relishing the lime as a break between the shots of alcohol that have your eyes squinting and mouth rioting. 

the pair of you return to the dancefloor, laughing and singing, mike throwing winks at all the pretty boys and girls he wants to, though not planning on giving them the time of day. it’s not until someone comes over to you, glaring, that you have a concern. it’s too loud for you to hear exactly what’s being said, and too drunk to care. 

“let’s go,” mike says to you, taking your arm in his to guide you out. you see the looks the pair of you got, questioning ones, ones that feel like they know about your fake IDs but not the reasons behind them. “we’ll find somewhere else for a bit.”

you don’t stay at the third club long, the tequila hitting you harder than mike - unsurprisingly. you know he’ll get you home safely - he does, and you know that there’s a chance ben will be awake if you get home after 4am - he is, but you don’t fully remember it. what you don’t remember is mike guiding you through the door, offering an apologetic smile to ben - he prefers to wake up early, and some days doesn’t have the choice - as he guides you into bed. you don’t remember ben nodding understandingly, and going to the kitchen, getting water and panadol to leave on your bedside table. 

but you’re glad for it, when you wake up, head pounding. your fingers find the long healed scar on the back of your head, tracing over it as though it can be blamed for a headache half a century after the fact, and, with your other hand, you reach out for your bedside table, taking a few sips of the water before downing the panadol and lying down again.


	2. things you said through your teeth (james)

you’re with friends who you’ll slowly phase out of seeing, whether you know it or not at the time. for now though, it’s celebratory. it’s almost 1997, everyone drinking to prepare for a new year, some already joking that you should be counting down to the next millennium. 

“let’s not worry about that for another year at least,” you say with a smile and a shake of your head. 

the new year gets counted down, the entire bar pausing to hell once the minute remaining hits ten seconds; the three, two, one, louder than anything you’d tolerate on a normal night, but one night a year was doable. what happens next happens quickly, you don’t focus on it. you hit the ground, hard, and your attacker is running off before you’ve even risen to your feet. 

as you rise, you rub a hand to the back of your head, gritting your teeth (it becomes a motif of yours - hands on your head or covering your eyes, while gritting your teeth to speak). 

you say: what the fuck was that?  
you say: i’m fine.   
you say: i’m not even hurt. 

the latter two are mostly true. and you don’t learn that you were lying until years after the fact. when you get one of your headaches like your skull is being ripped in two and you try to act natural the others, your new friends now, they notice. they’re not rude about it, not over the top to make a point of noticing, but they care. 

“james, you ever think you should get that checked out?” asks mike. 

you shake your head, teeth gritted. “just headaches, i’ll cope.” 

there’s no need to voice the feeling in your stomach that something is wrong, something deeper that you know you can’t get help for but makes you double take when you look in the mirror and why you can’t imagine going clean shaven again. you haven’t been clean shaven since the years ticked over from the nineties to the new century. 

mike might not understand, but he’s sympathetic, disappearing for a moment before returning with a glass of water for you, and you drink it, knowing it won’t help. that isn’t a reason to be ungrateful, you figure. you know that grinding your teeth together is surely awful for them, but it feels like that’s the only thing you can do to acknowledge the pain in your head. 

it passes after a few minutes, the others making sure to keep the conversation quiet, at risk of worsening your state. you set the glass down, empty now, the headache having gone, though you know it will migrate to your eyes, meaning a dark room for the rest of the day, or sunglasses if you need to leave your house and get anything productive done. 

“does that happen often?” jamie asks, sympathetic smile on his face. it strikes you how much of a family they are, and you’re grateful that you’ve been welcomed into said family, even if it feels like there’s some kind of secret that you’re not in on going on. 

you press your lips together in a grimace, nodding as you reply. “fairly. that’s what i mean when i say i’m used to it.”

“does anything trigger it?” it’s ben asking this time, always considerate, looking out for how he can make someone else’s life that little bit more comfortable. 

“no, it just happens, or it doesn’t. it’s a weird story to be honest, the first time i got one of ‘these headaches’, new years day, 1997. what a way to start a year,” you remark. 

mike laughs, though not mocking you. “the hangover hit you that hard?”

“takes more than a new year’s eve party to get me so hungover i feel it for days,” you reply. “no, i got punched from behind - hit the ground and everything, it was bizarre.”

“bizarre? not the first word i’d go for,” barry remarks. “violent, maybe, would be my first one.”

ben swats his shoulder with the back of his hand before you continue talking. 

“yeah, i don’t know, there was just, something else about it, you know? like, i didn’t get seriously hurt, but these headaches keep coming back. seems a bit lucky to me, when you think, people can die from a punch to the back of the head,” you say. 

ben nods with a knowing hum that suggests he’s understanding it on some level that you’re not, a feeling that is only compounded by the look mike gives jamie, eyebrow raised as though asking him a question. jamie bites his lip and nods hesitantly - the answer to whatever the question was must be yes in his eyes, and months after that you find out he’s right. you grit your teeth with confusion when that conversation comes, ben explaining things gently, while barry, jamie, and mike butt in with their two cents every now and then. 

“there’s no real way to know for sure,” ben says to end his explanation, “but you do kind of just know.”

you nod, slowly and deliberately, relaxing your jaw before you reply. “i think you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one has a surprising amount of plot? so cheers to that, just you know, fleshing out the world a bit more.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so, maybe the "main fic" of immortal au should be uploaded first but thats also "much harder to write". so have this! thanks to the sorted discord for supporting this universe and helping me come up with an easy fic to write in it (also helping with word count.. even though as it appears i have ignored you). i hope it makes some amount of sense if ur not in the discord but im not optimistic.


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